


Don't

by carryonstarkid



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Character studies, Gen, Not So Subtle Metaphors About Dolphins, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryonstarkid/pseuds/carryonstarkid





	1. Don't Stop

Alan’s just going for the seahorses. 

There’s going to be a whole new exhibit at the Sydney Sea Life, focusing on dolphins as a pack animal and the new research in the field. There’s going to be a lecturer from Cambridge—not just _an_ expert in her field, but _the_ expert in her field—and they’re bringing in a team from the Clearwater Marine Aquarium. There’s going to be so much to learn and discuss and just generally _know_ , but Alan’s just going for the seahorses, and that’s fine too. 

It’s the only thought that’s been keeping Gordon sane all morning. He’s been working with uppity college kids and even more uppity college professors on a three-way grant for the exploration of a cave system in the Indian Ocean. Four’s the only man-piloted vessel in the world that can go that deep and Gordon’s more than happy to volunteer his time and expertise, but research grants are always a pain—especially when they’re voted on by the public. There’s always so many limitations, so when Gordon says he sees seven tunnels, the people on land tell him he’s only allowed to explore five. When Gordon says that a cavern goes one way, the guys above sea level tell him that their maps say otherwise. 

It sets his teeth on edge, especially since it’ll most likely be another twenty years before anyone’s down here again, and these caves are probably going to be completely different by then, and they’ll have missed their opportunity to chart the erosion and— _christ._  The whole thing makes him want to click his radio off and _get_ some damn answers on his _own_ , but if he wants to keep working with these universities—and unfortunately, he does—then he’s got to follow orders from a kid who’s only ever seen the Indian Ocean in textbooks.

Needless to say, it’s been a long morning, and the only thing that’s kept it from being a _catastrophic_ morning is the thought of Alan making stupid fish faces in Sydney’s glass all day.  It’s something the pair of them have never outgrown—mimicking the stupidest looking fish they can find—and it’s been far too long since they’ve gotten the chance to do it.

So when Gordon had mentioned the exhibit to Scott, Alan had actually been _excited_  about it and had even asked to join.  The whole thing had sort of caught Gordon off guard, because if there’s anything his brothers _don’t_ get excited about, it’s new research about dolphins as pack animals, but then Alan had started spouting off facts about jellyfish and did-you-knows about seahorses—all the novelty things that normal people go to aquariums for.

It’s not exactly what he’d had in mind, but he’s plenty happy to bring Alan along, because he never gets to bring _anyone_ along for things like this.

By the time he gets home, it’s getting late.  The sun’s starting to set across Tracy Island and Gordon knows that he’s going to miss the first lecture.  That’s his fault.  He should have known better than to schedule a dive that deep at the same time as the exhibit’s opening day.  If they hurry, they can still make it in time for the second round.  It’s not a big deal—just some bad scheduling.

When Gordon steps into the living room, however, he realizes just how bad the scheduling really is.

John had _said_ he was coming home, of course.  Gordon had _known_ thatthe date of his return was coming up, but in all honesty, Gordon doesn’t really pay much attention to that part of his brother’s life.  When he’s here, he’s here, and it’s great.  When he’s in space, he’s in space, and that’s fine too.  John is someone who exists in Gordon’s life and who Gordon occasionally remembers to care about, but in the end, the two of them just don’t have enough in common for Gordon to feel like he needs to count the days before John’s back.

The same can’t be said for Alan.

Because even now, before the orange even leaves the sky, Gordon can see the backs of their heads, blond like his own and red like no one else’s. They’re _already_  out there, pointing up like there’s something to look at.

Gordon’s heart has this thing it does—a very specific thing that only occurs at very specific times.  Y’see, sometimes, Gordon’s heart likes to shatter.

As he tries to put the pieces back together again, he assures himself that this is fine—it’s _fine_.  He’s jumping to conclusions.  Alan loves the aquarium and, more than that, Alan tends to stick to his word.  They’re going to be fine.  No way Alan picks John over Gordon.

Again.

“…the Winter Circle,” John says, answering a question that Gordon didn’t hear.  “If you move the Hubble to dead center, you can see where it is.”

“ _Whoa_ ,” Alan replies, and then Gordon’s heart does that thing again, because how in the _hell_ is he supposed to compete with the Hubble?

When Gordon clears his throat, the brothers spin as if he’s snatched the pair of them right out of the sky.  “John,” he greets with that cool up-nod of his.  John replies with a firm down-nod of his own before Gordon turns to Alan.  “You ready?  We should get going pretty soon.”

Alan’s an open book.  Not a thing goes through that kid’s mind without hitting his face first, so Gordon already knows what’s coming when his little brother says, “Can we, maybe, go some other time?”

Gordon doesn’t know why it hurts so much.  It shouldn’t.  He had seen it coming from the second he walked through the door, but it does, because Alan’s picking John.  Alan always picks John.  “The lectures are only on opening day,” Gordon reminds him.  “And you _said_ you would go.”

“I know,” Alan says.  “But John’s home.  I think the seahorses can wait a while.”

Of _course_ the seahorses can wait a while—that’s not the problem.  The dolphins are the problem.  The once-in-a-lifetime lectures are the problem.   _John’s_ the problem, but Gordon doesn’t say so.  “Fine, whatever,” Gordon snaps.  “I’ll go by myself.  Stay here and watch your stupid stars with John.  I didn’t want you to come anyways, you’d just get in the way.”

Gordon doesn’t watch how these words hit Alan because he storms back inside before he can see them land.  He hopes it’s a hard hit.  He’s willing to take the low blow.  Gordon’s been waiting all goddamn day to do this and now that John’s home, Alan’s gone and Gordon’s not going to get to see either of them so long as the older of the two remains on solid ground.  Stupid John. Stupid stars.  Stupid, stupid, stu—

“Hey!”

John’s not a fighter.  Never has been and probably never will be, but he does have a few thing’s he’ll fight _for_.  A successful rescue.  Their father’s legacy.  The progression of mankind as a whole, even if not as individuals.

And Alan.  More than anything, John will fight for Alan.  So Gordon’s not all that surprised when he sees John charging him.  He had almost expected it.

It used to be scary—John coming after him like this.  John’s lean and clumsy, but when he’s pissed, he’s got this undeniable determination that makes you think he might actually throw a punch and that he won't _stop_ punching you until you’re good and dead.  It used to be scary, but Gordon’s learned a thing or two in his years, and he knows one thing that the others don’t—John stops.  He doesn’t look like he’s going to, but he does.  Every time.  “What’s your problem?”

Gordon turns, heading out.  He doesn’t have time for this.  He’s going to miss the lecture.  “Nothing,” he says.  “Nothing, go talk about _space_.”

“Alan doesn’t _want_ to talk about space anymore,” John says, and the words don’t sound like they belong together.  Each one makes sense individually, but together, they make for a concept that Gordon can’t quite wrap his head around.   _Alan_ and _space_  should never be separated by a _doesn’t_.  “He never does when you take stabs at him like that.”

This, Gordon has to admit, strikes a nerve, because he _knows_.  He knows what it feels like to have his excitement crushed and to have his smiles slapped from his face with a single word.  He knows what it feels like to have someone roll their eyes when all he wants to do is _share_  and he knows what it feels like to have everything he loves mocked and waved off as some sort of _squid boy_  hysteria.  Gordon knows what that feels like, and he doesn’t wish it onto anyone.  Especially not his kid brother.

John doesn’t notice this.  When it comes to Gordon, John never does.  “So maybe you should take your big mouth and go apologize to the kid,” he says.

This time, Gordon thinks that maybe his heart’s been shattered again, but in another instant, he realizes that’s not the case.  This isn’t a shatter.  This is a _snap_.  

He spins on his heel.  Gordon and John are opposites in so many ways, be it water versus sky, internal versus external, correct versus right—Gordon could make a list a mile long and keep going.  The pair of them are two sides of the Tracy coin, so if John’s the one who always stops, Gordon’s the one who keeps going, right up until his finger is jabbed into his big brother’s chest.  “ _He’s_ the one that needs to be apologizing,” Gordon tells him.  “And while we’re at it, maybe you should hand out a few yourself.”

“For being _home_?” John says, and it’s like Gordon’s finger isn’t even there.  “You’re seriously asking me to apologize for being home?”

“ _Yes_!” Gordon screams, and the _noise_ it makes… off the walls and the high ceilings.  Off the glass that makes up one half their home and the wood that makes up the other.  It’s an echo, a thousand times over, and as it hits Gordon’s ears, it sounds wrong.  “No—I mean.  No, I’m _glad_ you’re home, John.  I’m just saying— _christ._ ”

“What,” John snaps, and the anger sounds misplaced coming from him.  Like he’s not quite sure why they’re yelling.  “What _are_ you saying, Gordon?”

“Whenever you come home, he’s yours.”

Gordon doesn’t need to specify who he’s talking about, because John’s already got a retort.  “This isn’t a game of Finders Keepers,” he says.  “You don’t get to call dibs on him.”

“Then neither do you.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Gordon says, and he does.  Alan _picks_ John, consistently, and that sucks even more.  “That’s kind of my whole point.”

“It’s not my fault that he wants to hang out with me,” John says, and it’s not defensive—it’s confused.  Like John really doesn’t have a clue where this argument has gone.  “You get to see him all the time.  I just get him when I come home.”

And then Gordon laughs, because John really _doesn’t_  know what they’re talking about.  “You don’t get it, do you?” Gordon says.  “It’s not just when you come home—he’s yours when you’re gone, too.  He talks about _your_ stars and he reads _your_ papers and he’s always got a line of questions just waiting for _you_ as soon as you touch the ground.  Even when you were in college, he’d ask how many more days you’d be gone and what kind of stories you’d bring home.  You were _always_ the cool big brother—coming home from school with lectures and information and—and—whatever the hell else.  I was just the dorky kid who shared a room with him.”

Gordon’s always wondered if John knows.  If he knows about the starfish pajamas that had turned to rocket ships or the clownfish pillow that had been replaced by a stuffed comet.  Gordon wonders if he had heard when _Under the Sea_ had turned into _Wish Upon a Star_ and he wonders if John knows that Alan had always been destined to exist on a separate plane, but then he had eventually chosen _up_  and Gordon had been left to drown.

One look at his redheaded, red-faced big brother, and Gordon knows that he’s oblivious.  John doesn’t know—he’s not that observant when it comes to Gordon, so he’s got to _spell it out for him_ , just like he has to spell out _everything else_  when it comes to John.  “You _stole_ him and now I’m _alone_ ,” he hisses, and the words don’t feel as satisfying as they should.

And then, it’s like the pieces have all fallen into place for John, because now he’s got that hellbent glint in his eye again.  “Please,” he spits.  “You’re not alone—are you kidding me?  You make friends with a smile.  You’ve got more charm than anyone I’ve ever seen.  You make a joke and the room laughs with you. I’ve got Alan. That’s all I’ve got.  He’s… he’s the only one who— _understands._ ”

“You had two younger brothers to choose from, John,” Gordon reminds the second born.  “But I’ve got the one, and you took him from me, so thanks for that.”

“You have no _idea_  what it feels like to be alone.”

And this is too much.  It’s too big a statement—too  _inaccurate_.  John himself should be crumbling with the false information, correcting where he can, just like he does every other time someone’s wrong.  Except he thinks he’s right, which is probably the part that makes Gordon grab his collar.  

Because Gordon _does_ know.  That might be the only thing they’ve got in common—loneliness in their own versions of the sky.  John looks up above his home and his brothers and he sees the stars waiting for him, not a soul in sight.  Gordon looks up at the underside of the waves—the pale blue and the sunshine—and he knows that no one else up there can possibly see the sky from a thousand feet under.

Gordon’s alone, even though he’s not, and that makes it so, so much worse.

The words are low and taut, but Gordon feels like he’s grown at least a foot, which he knows he’s going to need if he ends up taking on John.  “Try me,” he says.

If it were Scott, he would’ve shoved Gordon off.

If it were Virgil, Gordon would already be on the ground with an icepack on the way.

But it’s John.  And John stops.  Every time.

It’s a different kind of stop this time.  One that seems more impatient than anything else.  John is unimpressed by this unpredictable show of heart and he’s not afraid to let Gordon know.  Gordon is reminded of his mother telling him to watch his temper with those impossibly green eyes of hers.  “You’re going to hit me?”

It’s a dare if ever he’s heard one.  A fight if ever he’s seen one coming.  John’s looking at him like he knows something that Gordon doesn’t.  It’s so smug, so _sure_  that Gordon’s not going to do anything.

But Gordon doesn’t stop.  He always takes things just a little bit too far.

It’s a firm hit—doesn’t have much windup, but Gordon’s almost glad for it, because as soon as it happens, he’s wishing it hadn’t.  He’s wishing that he had listened to those green eyes, because now his hand hurts, and his brother hurts, and his heart’s doing that damn shattering thing again.

But he doesn’t help John up.  He doesn’t run to get an icepack.  He just sticks his throbbing hand into his pocket, turns away, and says. “When Scott comes running to your aid”—because Scott’s _always_ running to John’s aide—“tell him I went to the aquarium.”

And then he’s gone, off to learn about dolphins, because that had been the plan before any of this.  Before Alan.  Before John.  Before any of his brothers had tried to act even remotely interested in his part of the world.

Still.  He wishes there were someone there to drag him past the seahorses.


	2. Don't Hit

“When Scott comes running to your aid, tell him I went to the aquarium.”

These are the words that come before the slammed door.  These are the words that come before John is left behind.

The second oldest holds his hand to his face and assess the damage caused by the second youngest.  Call it a miscalculation.  Call it an underestimation.  Call it another unpredictable move from the boy with the most unpredictable heart that John’s ever encountered.  There’s plenty of names for impulsivity, but those who reside on Tracy Island usually just stick to calling it _Gordon,_ and John’s never known how to account for it.

It’s not bad.  A firm hit.  It had landed square over John’s incisor, leaving a nasty gash both inside and out.  Say what you want about Gordon, but when he gets going, he _gets going,_ and he knows just how to hit a guy to make it hurt.

John’s taken harder hits from people _older_ and  _taller_  than his kid brother, so it’s really not that big a deal.  He stands, wipes his lip, and chuckles at the dark red streak left behind on his own pale skin.  “Dumbass,” he mutters.

it’s Scott who takes concern.  Scott always does.  Especially when John’s bleeding, as John so frequently is.  The eldest of the five acts as a true-born first responder when he catches sight of the redhead and, as Gordon had so _wisely_ predicted, Scott comes running.  “What the hell, Johnny?” he says.  “You’ve been down for eight hours.”

“It’s a record,” John snarks.  “Gordon’s at the aquarium.”

Scott’s a smart guy, but he’s a quick thinker – wired for decision-making and a certain level of instantaneity.  Logic doesn’t come as easily to him as it does to John, which isn’t really an insult seeing as logic doesn’t come to _anyone_ as easily as it comes to John.  That’s why John’s not surprised to hear Scott say, “What?”

“Gordon,” John says again.  Scott grabs both sides of John’s face, trying to get a better look, and John can taste the salt on his lip.  “He left.”

And if there’s anything that _does_ come quickly to Scott Tracy, it’s his brothers.  “Not until he left a mark on you, I’m sure.”

“You know how he gets.”

“He hit you?”

“I didn’t hit myself.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Scott says, and there’s a hint of a smile.  That is, until Scott remembers the Gordon situation and the smile fades again.  “You’ve got to hit him back when he does that – hey Virgil!”

Scott’s eyes don’t leave the gash on John’s lip, but he throws his voice over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, from which a very muffled Virgil replies, “Yeah?”

“Bring me an icepack, wouldya?”

Pause.  Silence.  Virgil must’ve swallowed the mouthful by now because his words are clear when he says,  “He’s only been down for eight hours!”

Scott rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, but _Gordon_ just got home.”

The way he says Gordon’s name is purposeful.  Like Virgil should know better.  Like they can’t leave the fourth child _alone_ without him _beating the shit_  out of someone.  John knows this isn’t true – they all do.  Gordon’s pretty mild-mannered most of the time.  A total goof.  It’s the times when he’s not that they really have to look out for.

Still.  John’s got to wonder exactly what _does_ happen when Gordon’s left alone.

Virgil’s on his way out, carrying an ice pack in one hand and half a tuna sandwich in another.  He tosses the ice to Scott, who catches it without even looking, then takes another bite before asking, “He hit you?”

“It’s _Gordon_ ,” Scott replies.

“You’ve got to hit him back when he does that, Johnny,” Virgil tells him.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Scott agrees.  “Knock him down on his ass a few notches and he’ll cool off real quick.”

This is what they do.  When Gordon gets worked up, they brush it off, wait for another day, chalk it up to too much work on a kid too young and give him the night off.  John’s joined in on the tease plenty of times – brutal brotherly love at its finest – but as he looks past Scott’s shoulder, towards the little blond who’s still looking up at John’s stars, something in John’s stomach twists.

John pulls away from the ice, shoving his big brother off of him.  “He already _was_ on his ass,” John says.

“Wait,” Scott says, and there’s that quick thinking again.  That instant jump to conclusions, and usually the wrong ones.  “You hit him first?”

The words are hard to hear, because maybe Scott’s not as wrong as he seems.  John hadn’t thrown the first punch – he very rarely does – but that doesn’t mean that there hadn’t already been a few hits thrown.  It doesn’t mean that John hadn’t been the first one to throw them.  John and Gordon opposites in this way and almost every other.  Gordon’s all rough and tough, while John’s all talk.

“No,” he says, finally.  “No, I didn’t hit him.”

“What the hell’s going on here, Johnny?” Scott asks, because his brothers aren’t making sense, and Scott doesn’t like it when his brothers don’t make sense.

That’s when John risks another glance at Alan.

It wasn’t like he had _meant_ to steal the kid – and steal really is too strong a word.  Gordon’s being dramatic, just like he always is.  John didn’t _steal_ anyone.  Sure, he’d noticed that the tides were shifting.  He’d heard the way that Alan had stopped asking about seahorses and started asking about Orion’s belt.  He’d notice the way that Gordon would wake up early for his morning workout and Alan would stay up late for the darkest night.  

But that’s not _John’s_ fault.  If anything, it’s _Gordon’s_.

It’s not John’s fault that he had come home every now and then.  It’s not John’s fault that Alan had been looking for someone to talk to.  Gordon’s the one who had left the kid behind.  Gordon’s the one who had spent every waking second at the pool.  He had a gold medal hanging in his room, for godssake – did he think that he could have earned that without making a few sacrifices?

The fact is that Gordon is one hundred percent, all the time.  He doesn’t distribute wealth – doesn’t split up emotion.  In the end, it had come down to Alan or the water, and Gordon had _picked_ the damn water.  Logically, that meant that he got to _stay_ with the water, and it was _not_ John’s fault that the rest of Gordon’s life had moved on without him.  John wasn’t a bad guy for wanting to have a brother understand him.

“Aww, John,” a new voice says, and Alan’s inside now.  For the first time ever, John notices that he’s got that same pep in his step that Gordon does.  “It’s been eight hours – did you hit your face on the coffee table again?”

“Gordon hit him,” Virgil says, like it’s yesterday’s news.

At this, Alan’s face goes just a little bit red and he looks at John’s cut with a fresh pair of eyes.  “Did you hit him back?”

“No.”

“Good,” Alan says and the room seems to freeze, but Alan doesn’t notice.  “That’s good. I shouldn’t have canceled on him.  He just gets really excited about this stuff y’know?”

These are the words that truly hit John the hardest, because he _does_ know.  He does.  John had once had to live with the bored waves from Scott.  He had once had to deal with the glazed listening from Virgil.  It wasn’t until he had found Alan, eager to learn about _anything_ – anything at all – that he had found someone who would really listen.

Scott and Virgil are always on the same wavelength. 

John and Alan are… well, they’re John and Alan.

And that leaves Gordon.

John Tracy is not usually wrong, but when he is, he’s usually wrong by about one hundred percent.  Call it miscalculation.  Call it improbability.  Call it whatever you like.  There are many words for pride, but those who reside on Tracy Island usually just stick to calling it _John_ , so it’s with a great amount of grumbling and a throbbing upper lip that John grabs Alan by the shirt, drags him towards the front door, and calls out, “We’re going to the aquarium.”


	3. Don't Quiet

The guilt is… consuming.

It’s not overwhelming.  John _had_ been asking for it, after all.  Gordon’s not wallowing in guilt, but he’s definitely sorry he did it.  He definitely can’t stop thinking about it.  It’s consuming him and it sucks, but there’s only so much regret he can feel for hitting the second oldest from time to time.

Still.  He wishes it hadn’t happened.

It’s not just because Scott’s gonna kick his ass.  It’s not just because Virgil’s going to land a few solid hits on his shoulder.  It’s not even because John’s going to avoid underwater rescues for the next two weeks, _at least_.  Nah.  It’s not the retaliation Gordon’s worried about.  It’s the fact that John’s gonna have a solid bruise somewhere along the right side of his face.

And, more than that, it’s the fact that Alan’s going to know where it came from.

If the state of Gordon’s hand is any indication, then John’s face is going to have this nasty purple thing on it for a while.  It’s going to be a nice, constant reminder of just how wrong John had been.  Of just how much the two of them didn’t get each other.  Of just how badly Gordon had wanted to take someone to the aquarium.

Stupid.  It had been so stupid.

And he can’t stop _thinking_ about it.  Dammit, John had _deserved_ that punch.  He’d earned it fair and square, but now Gordon’s the one with the pit in his stomach, thinking about it so much that he can almost see John’s reflection in the water, big purple bruise and all.

Except – wait, shit.  It _is_ John’s reflection in the water.

Gordon’s up in a heartbeat and he’s got his fists ready in two.  He’s pretty sure that John won’t try anything here, but he’s not going to give up on the idea just yet.  You can’t underestimate John, otherwise you end up blacked out on the floor a few seconds later.  He and Gordon are a lot alike in that way. 

John’s hands are up in something that _could_ be a surrender, but the image looks foreign on the older brother.  It doesn’t quite belong on those scrawny space limbs – or at least, it never has before – so Gordon doesn’t quite buy it.  “Easy there, slugger,” John says.  “That’s very generous of you, but I don’t need one to match, thanks.”

Gordon’s eyes flash to the bruise again.  It’s mostly red right now, but it’s on its way.  At least the bleeding stopped.  “What do you want, John?” he asks.

“Someone told me there’s new research on dolphins,” John says, leaning over the railing that separates land from water.  He’s too tall and his butt’s hanging out, but Gordon joins him anyways, hoping that no one figures that they’re here together.

And also sort of hoping that _everyone_ figures that they’re here together.

“So what is this grand new research that you _had_ to come see?” John says, and Gordon tries his best to ignore John’s inner snob because, knowing John, it’s probably unintentional.  Probably.

“Pack animals,” Gordon answers.  It’s short.  Sweet.  All his brothers ever want to hear about life underwater.  

“Dolphins have been pack animals since the start of their existence, Gordon,” John says.  “What makes this so new and exciting?”

The way he says it – Gordon can’t even believe they’re talking about the same thing.  Dolphins aren’t _just_ pack animals.  They’re social beings.  They have unique ways of communication and a very real _need_ to utilize those skills.  A dolphin without a friend is a dolphin depressed, caught in a loop of talking to themselves or just not talking at all.  Lack of socialization has been known to cause erratic behavior in these animals for _years_.  Things like banging into walls or refusing to eat.

Things like, maybe, punching other dolphins in the face, for example.

Dolphins aren’t just _a_ pack animal.  They’re _the_ pack animal, so Gordon can’t figure out how in the _hell_ John can sound so unimpressed.  Then again, sometimes John points up at Leo the Lion and recites ten thousand facts all at once.  Gordon can’t imagine _he_ sounds very impressed then, so he really shouldn’t expect anything more from John.

“There’ve been significant studies made in the idea of dolphins living on their own, except without all of the depression and stuff.”

There’s a beat.  Then another.  And then a quick, “I see.”

“Listen we really don’t – ”

“I’m sorry,” John says, and it catches Gordon off guard in every way possible.  It’s like jumping into a pool that’s colder than he was expecting or like taking a nice, solid hit to the chest.  First of all, John _doesn’t_  apologize.  Not to Gordon, anyways, and secondly, _John’s_ the one with the bruise on his lip.  If anything, Gordon owes the apology here, but John just keeps on going.  “I shouldn’t have said what I said.  You’re down in Four all day and – you get it.  You do know what it’s like.  To be by yourself.  I know that now.”

It’s not exactly the right thing to say, if Gordon’s being honest. John’s heart is in the right place, but he just doesn’t get it.  John’s loneliness is born out of leaving people behind.  Gordon’s is born out of being left.  But it’s the thought that counts, so Gordon nods politely and says, “Thanks, John.”  Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Sorry I punched you in the face.”

“I should’ve seen it coming,” John says.  “Scott and Virgil wanted me to hit you back.”

“I guess I deserve that.”

“Alan doesn’t think so.”

“No?” Gordon says with a laugh.  “Well, I knew there was a reason I liked that brother best.”

“I don’t think so either.”

When Gordon looks at John this time, he doesn’t see the bruise.  He sees the smile, so Gordon manages a much more meaningful, “Thanks, Johnny.”

“ _Gordon_!” calls a familiar voice.  It’s the second time one of his brothers has caught him off guard in the past five minutes, so Gordon makes a mental note to up his game.  

Alan’s darting towards them now.  John had probably ditched him somewhere back by the stingrays – Alan always gets hung up on the stingrays.  “John would _not_ let me see the seahorses until we found you and that, frankly, is just unacceptable,” says the youngest as he weaves through the crowd.  “I’m just going to have to demand that we go see them.  Right now.  Immediately.  Do you need me to drag you there?  Because I can do that.”

“No you can’t, Al,” Gordon says.

“No I can't – but I will.  For the seahorses.  So let’s _go_.”

“Hold on,” John says.  Alan’s already started yanking on Gordon’s sleeve, but John’s there stopping them both with those two measly words.  “I want to hear about the dolphins.”

John doesn’t want to hear about the dolphins.  That fact has been true since the birth of John Tracy.  He could not give any less care to the developments in the dolphin world, but he’s going to listen, and he’s going to make Alan listen, and Gordon’s just not going to pass this moment up.

So he talks.  He really, _really_ talks.  Not a single one of the tree brothers can remember the last time Gordon’s said so much.  He talks about the dolphins, which then turns into the belugas and the whales.  Somehow he gets to otters and starfish and then he spirals right back into the dolphins again.  John’s not all that interested – that much is obvious – but there’s a spark in Alan’s eyes, leftover from when he favored the sea to the stars, so Gordon keeps on talking.  And talking.  And _talking._

All the while, he’s thinking about how great it must be, to talk like this all the time, and Gordon can’t blame John for taking Alan out at night.  Gordon can’t blame him for letting the youngest peek through the telescope, because talking like this – getting _excited_?  Well, it looks like he and John have something in common after all.


End file.
